the drizzle down
of reds

and yellows
the yukimushi

with their quiet proclamations
the crows feathering

through the blue sky
the blunt sleep

of snow
the afternoon light

across the pages
of my book

moments
that stand still

in a world
that absolutely

refuses to

deep in the dark dirt
the trees with autumnal mystery

whisper chemical words
touch and tap out rooted codes

they dust and vibrate ancient texts upon the wind
it is decided

this is to be a mast year
chestnuts acorns pinecones

pop and pepper the ground
they puddle in surprising abundance

the squirrels are certainly happy
the chipmunks too

do they understand what the trees discussed?
do they share that language?

are they allowed a voice?
we kick

and fidget
at the first beat

of the heart
and are born

to build
what will only

one day fall apart

weeds heed no measure of time
save perhaps the ticking of rain

or the slow circle of seasons
in their own meter

they climb their way
through the creases and the concrete

splaying themselves before the sun
the dragonfly red bodied and resting

so patient upon the warmth of the garden stone
it has no word for pastpresentfuture

there is only now
and now

is always enough
be wary of power

of those who        collect and wield it
of those who        conscript and twist it

be wary of all that prattle and blather
it has absolutely nothing to do with power

or weeds
or dragonflies

september has snapped
perfectly into place

the cool of the air
the linger of light

the ants have slowed their workload
the cicadas have grown silent

a brown squirrel happily hurries past
an acorn in its mouth

when death comes for me
i would like to think

that i will not lock the door
draw the curtains

and secret myself beneath the bed in the guest room
when life came for me

i did not run and hide
and look how all that turned out?

up the mountain road at first light
reds and yellows already peck

and freckle the greens of trees
on the road an eclipse of moths

bodies and wings the color of dried leaves
thousands of them

crazed in their choreography
scattered along the side

shattered into piles
broken beyond belief

we remain
life-bruised

and life-healed
and despite all attempts

at comfort and routine
we still wild

at the night
we still wail

for the new light